Chapter 3

Isla’s POV

The first sign that something was wrong came when I opened my fridge and found Leo’s juice box missing.

Not a big deal on its own—he’s four and fast when he wants to be—but the second sign came a heartbeat later. My phone buzzed on the counter with a calendar notification I didn’t set. A meeting. Noon. Private conference – Lucien Wolfe’s office.

I hadn’t agreed to any meeting.

I stared at the screen, heart thudding. A chill slid down my spine.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Not after yesterday. Not after the look he gave me.

He knows something.

I tried to shake it off as I dressed for work, but the thought stayed rooted in my skull. I kissed Leo’s forehead before dropping him off at daycare, and the entire time he talked about dinosaurs and cookies, I felt like a bomb was ticking somewhere under my feet.

The office felt colder today. Or maybe that was just me.

Whispers followed me down the hallway. A few glances. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it felt like everyone knew. Like I’d grown a scarlet letter overnight.

I didn’t have time to think about it. At 11:58, my nerves completely unraveled.

I stood outside Lucien Wolfe’s office, staring at the massive glass doors like they might swallow me whole.

You’ve survived worse, I told myself.

That was a lie.

I knocked once, then pushed the door open.

Lucien was behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, suit jacket draped over the chair. He looked up—and everything in him went still.

“So you did come.”

I swallowed hard. “You sent a meeting invite.”

His eyes flickered. “You didn’t decline.”

I walked in cautiously, arms folded tight across my chest. “What is this about?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. My stomach twisted.

“I don’t like being lied to, Isla.”

He slid the envelope across the desk.

I didn’t open it. I didn’t have to.

“I want to hear it from you,” he said softly, but there was steel under the words. “Is he mine?”

The air left my lungs.

My legs gave out, and I sat without meaning to, sinking into the leather chair opposite him. I stared at the envelope. At the name scrawled on the tab in neat handwriting.

Leo Monroe.

I looked up slowly, my voice a whisper. “You had me followed?”

“No,” he said. “I had you investigated.”

The distinction barely mattered.

I should have been angry. Maybe I was. But the truth was—I was scared. Not of him. Not really. I was scared of what this meant. For me. For Leo. For the life I’d worked so hard to build.

“You had no right,” I said quietly.

He leaned forward, voice calm, but tight. “I had every right. You disappeared after Tuscany. No number. No last name. You cut me out. And now I find out I have a four-year-old son with my eyes and my damn DNA?”

Tears blurred my vision. I blinked them back.

“I didn’t know who you were, Lucien. Not really. You left without a word.”

“So did you,” he shot back. “I woke up one morning, and you were gone.”

My throat tightened. “Because I saw the headline on your phone. Lucien Wolfe, heir to the WolfeTech fortune, missing from family estate. I realized everything had been a lie. You weren’t just some guy escaping the noise. You were—you. And I was… no one.”

Silence fell.

He stood, running a hand through his hair. “You still should have told me.”

I stood too, suddenly angry. “What would you have done? Sent a check? Sent your lawyers to take him from me?”

His jaw clenched. “You think I would take your son away?”

I didn’t answer.

“Our son,” he corrected sharply. “You had no right to make that decision for both of us.”

Now I was trembling. “I was scared. I didn’t even know if you’d care. I figured you’d deny it. Or worse—use him as leverage if it suited you. That’s what men like you do.”

He looked like I’d slapped him.

“Men like me.”

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

Lucien’s voice lowered to something lethal. “You think I don’t care? You think I’m the kind of man who’d abandon his own son? You knew me, Isla. You knew who I was before the world ever got involved.”

“I thought I did,” I whispered.

We stared at each other, and for a moment, the walls between us cracked—just enough for the past to slip through. I saw the man I once loved in his eyes. The man who held me by the fire in Tuscany, who kissed my shoulder and promised he wasn’t going anywhere.

He was gone now.

This man? This man was fire and storm and vengeance, wrapped in an Armani suit and a heart that had turned to stone.

“I want to see him,” Lucien said at last, voice quieter now.

My stomach twisted. “You can’t just walk into his life. He doesn’t know you.”

“Then introduce us.”

I stared at him, panic rising. “Lucien—”

“I’m not asking, Isla. I’m telling you. You kept him from me once. You won’t do it again.”